A Mother of a Day - Part III

"No, no," Mark said. "You're getting a nap. I insist."

It was, after all, my only Mother's Day wish that hadn't yet been denied.

My first wish -- being showered with love and affection -- hadn't panned out as I'd hoped. While each child had at least acknowledged the day, lengthy protests ensued over why there's no such thing as Kid's Day.

Arms were crossed, brows were furled and sighs were huffed in disgust. The It's-Not-Fair Chorus sang the whole ride home. Loudly.

Oh, and my Mother's Day meal -- that delicious plate of flautas (plus a trough of sangria) -- would have to wait. We were now making dinner for my in-laws.

Only my wish for a delightful Mom's Day nap hadn't been completely dashed. However, preparations for impromptu company loomed as the overriding priority.

"Let's keep it simple," said Mark. I'll fire up the grill.

The prospect delighted me. It would be our first cookout of the season. A beer-boiled brat and a Spotted Cow weren't exactly my favorite Mexican meal, but they were a worthy consolation prize.

When we got home, Mark and I looked in the pantry. It was bare. The fridge, on the other hand, was full -- full of moldy leftovers. (Cleaning out the fridge hadn't made my wish list.)

Someone had to make the store run.

"I'll do it," Mark volunteered. "And while I'm gone, be sure to take a nap," he urged, slamming the door behind him.

Looking around, I assessed the damage: Four tired and crabby kids, two hyperactive dogs and one messy-ass house.

The nap would have to wait.

I decided it was better to tackle the house without the big kids in it, messing up every room I'd just tidied, so I snapped off the TV and shooed The Bigs outside to play.

No sooner had I turned my back to face the kitchen, I heard Mad Dog yell,

"NOOOOOOO!"

Crowbar had left the front door open and Bandit and Libby, our resident canines, had taken off.

By the time I made it to the street, they were long gone. All of them. The big kids and the dogs. Gone.

And they'd headed west, toward a busy three-lane street.

In a panic, I raced back inside. I quickly snapped Sweet Pea in her car seat and threw her in the van.

I tore down the street and came across Crowbar standing on the side of the road, crying.

"I didn't mean to--"

"Get in the van," I called.

"It was an acci--" he continued. He was frozen in his tracks.

"Get in!" We were losing time.

"I--"

"GET IN THE VAN!" I screamed, causing him to snap back to life and into the van.

I scooped him up and we zoomed down the road.

To be continued...